


gotta have some faith in the sound

by CapnShellhead



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 15:34:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13661961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapnShellhead/pseuds/CapnShellhead
Summary: Tony is tasked with entertaining T'Challa on one of his free nights in the US.





	gotta have some faith in the sound

**Author's Note:**

> Quick IronPanther porn for the tag

It sounded like a good idea at the time. 

Now, Tony’s letting T’Challa into his mansion and feeling like a complete idiot. T’Challa had said as much with his muted tone and judgmental gaze but Tony had shown him the town as he used to see it. A night on the town visiting his old haunts: a fancy, late night sushi bar, a bar where he’d ordered a club soda and a strip club where the ladies no longer knew him by name. 

Tony’s night time habits had changed quite a bit but he highly doubts T’Challa would have enjoyed watching him tinker in his lab for hours. 

Now, he closes the door behind them and watches T’Challa take a seat on his couch, his legs spread as though Tony intended to stand for the rest of the night. He’d been dismissive for much of their time together. The frustrating part was that he wasn’t outwardly rude. Tony knew how to handle rude; he’d grown up with rude. No, T’Challa - he corrects himself, Prince T’Challa hadn’t been rude. He’d just been unimpressed by anything Tony had to offer. Including Tony himself. 

Now, Tony stands in front of him and waits because he’d led every conversation tonight and he’d be damned if he kept stumbling over his words trying to get T’Challa to talk to him. Then, T’Challa’s gaze slides over to him again and Tony starts to sweat, his face warming and he stutters out, “I’m sorry it’s just, that’s where I used to take people. Most guys like strip clubs.”

“I suppose I’m not like most guys,” T’Challa says calmly and Tony shifts awkwardly beneath his stare. “Neither are you, it seems.”

What? “What?”

“You used to take people there. Do you not like those places anymore?” he asks.

“No,” he answers honestly and it makes T’Challa’s chin rise.

“But you took me there.”

“Yes,” he says and he can see where this is going. “I just thought you might enjoy it. It’s your one free night. I would’ve done anything if I thought you’d enjoy it.”

“Is that so?” T’Challa asks, one neat brow raised and Tony feels his stomach twist nervously. He wants to read something into that look but it was that desire that made him certain it was probably meaningless. Tony wasn’t quite humble, he’d admit but he knew enough to know a Prince, one as intelligent and attractive as T’Challa, would have no use for Tony. Tony was older than him by a few years, he had a reputation that still kept him out of some establishments in Malibu and sure, he was in the best shape of his life at the moment but he was no “catch”. 

He’s running through all the reasons he’s misinterpreting the signs right now and his mouth runs away with him. “I would’ve put on a show for you myself if I thought you would like it.”

The room goes quiet and Tony’s brain finally catches up to his mouth. He looks to T’Challa who’s cocked his head to the side, a curious expression on his face. “Wait-“

“Go on,” T’Challa says calmly, the corner of his mouth ticked up. “If you frequented these places as often as you say, you must have picked up a few skills along the way.” He lowers his eyes to his hands as he sits back against the couch. “But if you’d prefer not to embarrass yourself further tonight, I respect your decision.”

Tony feels that familiar drive take over. The same drive that led him to drink a line of 12 tequila shots when he was nineteen years old because Ty said he couldn’t do it. The same drive that secured a 6 billion dollar deal with Fujikawa Industries after Pepper said it couldn’t be done. The same drive that had led him to pull his shoes off and ask Jarvis to cue some music. 

It was low, something sultry and slow and nothing like the music he had cued for himself when he was in the lab. But it was low, the bass moving through him as he stalked closer to T’Challa’s spot on the couch and slid his blazer off.

Thing is: Tony doesn’t know how to dance. 

Oh, he could waltz and tango with the best of them; his mother would have a fit if years of dancing lessons hadn’t taught him at least that. But that was very different from this kind of dancing. He’d been granted the grace of movement and that was about it. 

So, he fakes it. He puts on his most confident grin and sways, keeping a brave face even when T’Challa’s curious expression never fades. Tony reaches for the button of his jeans when T’Challa raises a hand to his chin, thoughtful. 

“Come here,” he says quietly and Tony bristles a little because he was supposed to be running the show here. 

Still, he comes and stands on either side of T’Challa’s thigh. “You have never done this before, have you, Mr. Stark?” he asks and Tony puts on an ambivalent expression. 

“And you have? Give a lot of lap dances on the throne, your majesty?” he asks and T’Challa just stares at him. “What?”

“You are looking at me like I’ve insulted you but you know I’m right.” He leans back, a bored look on his face. “If the goal is to entice, you’re getting undressed so routinely, I might as well not be here.”

Tony flushes, a light glare on his face. He could tell because T’Challa was almost smiling at him. Tony swallows his pride and slows his hips, slides a thigh over T’Challa’s on the couch and tugs on his zipper. He steps away to take his jeans off and then returns in his shirt and briefs. He spreads out over T’Challa’s lap, watching his eyes widen ever so slightly. 

“You’re so sure I’m doing this wrong but you claim you’ve never been to a strip club before,” Tony argues, swaying above T’Challa’s thighs. He’s so close to touching the prince at this point. The heat from his body is starting to get to him, starting to seep through the silk of Tony’s shirt and connecting them. 

“I have not but I was not born yesterday.” He leans back, watching Tony’s eyes as he moved. “Are you incapable of admitting this may not be your calling?”

“Everything’s my calling,” Tony says and slides his fingers beneath the hem of his shirt. T’Challa eyes him as he rolls his hips forward and tugs it up a little, drawing T’Challa’s gaze to the reveal before he returned to Tony’s face. Tony’s lays his palm over his stomach, grinding forward and falling back against T’Challa’s thighs. T’Challa’s face was blank but Tony could see the amusement in his eyes. 

Tony continues on his own, watching T’Challa’s blank facade start to slip as he stifled a laugh. Finally, Tony sighs, resting on T’Challa’s legs as he huffs, “Okay, what am I doing wrong?”

T’Challa leans back, his warmth seeping into Tony’s body as he eyes him critically for a moment. Then he says carefully, “You don’t feel the rhythm. Here,” he reaches out hesitantly and slides his palm under Tony’s shirt. His palm was smooth and warm, gliding over the soft hair of Tony’s abdomen up to the center of his chest. Tony froze, his heart pounding as T’Challa slides over scar tissue without comment, only a brief furrowing of his brow. Then he places his palm flat over Tony’s heart, his eyes level with Tony’s. 

The corner of his mouth quirks as he says, “You need to feel the rhythm here,” he reaches up with his free hand and palms Tony’s hip. “And move here.” He holds Tony’s gaze and starts moving his hips to the beat, grinding forward against Tony’s. Tony sucks in a breath, his heart pounding as T’Challa moves Tony’s hips in line with his own. Soon, they’re rocking together, the music an afterthought as Tony follows T’Challa’s lead, his broad palm on his chest. 

“Yeah?” Tony breathes, eyes tracing a bead of sweat rolling down T’Challa’s throat as he swallows. He’s hard, it’s painfully obvious and he’d be embarrassed if he didn’t feel a bulge pressing against his own. T’Challa continues to rock Tony’s hips against his own to the beat, his eyes dark. It’s faster now, more urgent and Tony’s tempted to slide a hand down to speed things along but he doesn’t want to risk the delicate balance they’ve found. He’s panting, he’s so close and he suspects T’Challa is too. So, instead, he reaches down to hold fast to T’Challa’s wrists, holding his palms against his chest and hip. 

T’Challa licks his lips, his voice rough, “What?” he asks, making Tony’s heart skip a beat. A slip; the first of the night. Tony works his hips more insistently, prompting T’Challa to push harder, using Tony to grind against now. He was breathing rougher, his gaze trailing down Tony’s face to his lips and back. His mouth falls open and Tony wants to cross that last boundary and press their lips together but he can’t risk the balance. He’s close, so close that he’s upsetting the rhythm, his hips jerking and he bites down on his lip.

“T- T’Challa,” he groans, his hips bucking as he grips T’Challa’s wrists and spills in his briefs. His head falls back, his cock jerking hard as T’Challa continues to push against him. The only sign he has that T’Challa’s close is the tightening of the hand on Tony’s hip before he chokes, his hips bucking as Tony feels more warmth spread between them. Tony breathes softly, watching T’Challa’s eyes fall shut briefly as he shakes, holding tight to Tony as he works through it. 

When he comes down, his eyes open to meet Tony’s, the air warm between them. His eyes cut to Tony’s lips and back to his face, his tongue catching Tony’s eye. Tony breathes, watching T’Challa’s chest rise and fall and then his eyes widen briefly as he surges forward to crush their mouths together. Tony opens for him eagerly, his legs spreading wider as T’Challa pulls Tony tighter to him insistently, his palm broad on the back of Tony’s head as devours his mouth. 

Strong fingers entwine in Tony’s hair and pull his head back as T’Challa nips and sucks at his neck. Groaning, Tony eyes closing as he falls back, submitting as T’Challa takes over. His balance shifts as T’Challa turns them and lays Tony down on the couch. Tony arcs and T’Challa growls, pulling at Tony’s shirt and briefs. Tony’s eyes open to see T’Challa kneeling above him, the halo of light behind casting a golden glow across his skin. His eyes trace over his abs, his thick arms and up to the his face, the hunger he found there. 

T’Challa raises a brow, “I trust you have what I need?” Tony swallows, nodding to the table behind T’Challa. T’Challa pulls out lube a condom, pulling his own pants off. He was impressive, Tony had to admit. His mouth was watering watching T’Challa stroke himself, his dark cock glistening in the dim lighting. T’Challa pats the inside of Tony’s thigh and props it up against the back of the couch. It’s not the best place for this but Tony wasn’t about to ask T’Challa to move. 

He spreads out, watching as T’Challa slicks his fingers and brushes the pad of his fingers over Tony’s rim. He tenses at first, his stomach tightening in anticipation, even as T’Challa tsks at him. He takes a deep breath, watching T’Challa’s muscles tense as he works his way inside. He’s careful but efficient, his breathing calm as he watches Tony’s face for any sign of discomfort. He slides in two before Tony realizes, wonderfully thick but Tony wants more. He pushes back, panting as T’Challa stretches him. 

By the time T’Challa’s up to four and pulling out to line himself up, Tony’s out of breath and dripping along his stomach. He catches T’Challa’s eye and can’t stifle a laugh. “This wasn’t what I had in mind when I volunteered to entertain you.”

T’Challa spares a smile, the first real smile of the night. “No?” He stretched out over Tony, his thick thighs spreading Tony further. “I am not sure I believe you, Mr. Stark,” he says quietly. 

“Tony, I think we’re past Mr. Stark now,” he began, gasping as T’Challa breached his entrance. He breathes, waiting as T’Challa slowly entered him, stretching him even wider than his fingers. Tony’s mouth falls open, breathing heavily, eyes caught on T’Challa’s smug grin as he continued the tantalizingly slow slide. 

“Go on,” T’Challa murmured, filling Tony more than he thought possible. Finally, he stops, taking hold of Tony’s thigh for a more solid grip.

“That’s it?” Tony asks in disbelief and earning a laugh.

“Not quite,” T’Challa says and pulls back. The first slide draws a low groan from Tony’s throat, the next and his eyes roll back in his head. T’Challa rises up and takes over, his weight pressing into Tony as he worked, his hips moving knowingly against Tony’s. “You are much better at this… Tony,” he adds softly, his tone making Tony shiver. 

“You’re doing all the work,” Tony says, a particularly smooth thrust dragging a low moan from his lips. He was embarrassingly close, his cock hard against his belly. T’Challa’s hands gripped his hips, pulling him down as Tony just took it, letting T’Challa use him to work his cock. He wasn’t complaining, more than willing to let T’Challa run things. 

“I suppose I can be quite demanding,” T’Challa admits, pulling Tony down roughly, rougher still as his thighs started to tense and between one breath and the next, Tony was spilling messily between them. He gasps, his stomach tightening as he came, his cock jerking hard as he squeezed tight around T’Challa’s cock and pulling a desperate growl from his throat. He buries his face against Tony’s shoulder, folding Tony in half, his balls slapping hard against Tony’s ass as he pounded into him. 

He was murmuring softly, just loud enough that Tony could hear it wasn’t in English. His hands held tight to Tony’s thighs as he took him, rhythm picking up as Tony shook beneath him. It was nearly too much, his cock spent between them as T’Challa’s cock pounded against his prostate, pushing in deep, filling him in a way no one had before. Tony cries out, his cock jerking ineffectually as T’Challa’s cock thickened, a low whine in Tony’s ear as T’Challa spilled inside of him. He works Tony with a few lazy strokes before he settles, nestled in deeper than before, his skin warm and sweaty against Tony’s own. 

Tony’s hands hovered over T’Challa’s back before he reached up and pet him. T’Challa stilled, his voice rumbling, “Not all of my diplomatic engagements are quite this enjoyable.”

Tony huffs out a laugh, his voice rough, “Probably not, no.” He takes a deep breath as T’Challa pulls out and ties the condom off. Tony feels well used, empty in the space T’Challa left. T’Challa returns to sit on the couch, pulling Tony’s legs over his thighs. He looks well sated, his posture more relaxed than Tony had ever seen it. “Does this mean you’ll be more open to an alliance with the Avengers?”

T’Challa’s brow furrows, his fingers trailing up the inside of Tony’s thigh to circle slick entrance teasingly. “I trust you did not intend to use your body as a bargaining tool?”

Tony frowns, “Of course not.” He props his foot up on the couch, spreading out further and drawing a needy groan from T’Challa’s lips. “I just want a guarantee this’ll happen again.”

T’Challa’s eyes cut to Tony’s, hungry but guarded. “Make no mistake, Tony,” his thumb pet the warm rim of Tony’s hole, moving with Tony’s writhing. “I will return.” He shifts, pushing Tony up and sliding on his stomach. Placing a soft kiss on the inside of Tony’s thigh, his eyes dark as they meet Tony’s. “For you,” he continues, spreading Tony’s legs and nosing in behind his balls. “For this,” he adds and Tony gasps, his heart pounding as he feels warm breath on his entrance. Tony’s panting in anticipation, his hole quivering as T’Challa pulls up to look him in the eye. “I cannot be bought. Not even with bribes as sweet at this. Understood?”

Tony swallows, taking in the stern expression on T’Challa’s face. He nods, not trusting his voice at the moment. T’Challa holds his gaze for a moment before nodding. “Now, I have a flight in eight hours. I have many plans for you in the meantime.”

Tony settles back with a sigh and lets T’Challa take control.


End file.
